


Oh, Mr Silva

by sunaddicted



Series: 007 Games Fics 2k20 [12]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Banter, Canon Divergence - Skyfall, Captivity, Innuendo, M/M, Role Reversal, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24963049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: Raoul had other weapons that made him deadly - other ways to reach his targets and destroy them without breaking a sweat or wasting resources like his colleagues in London did, going through Q-Branch’s equipment as fast and easily as if they were going through candy rather than prototypes that were worth thousands upon thousands of pounds.
Relationships: James Bond/Raoul Silva | Tiago Rodriguez
Series: 007 Games Fics 2k20 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794529
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Oh, Mr Silva

**Author's Note:**

> For Reverse Tropes Day, I present you agent!Silva and villain!Bond in the infamous chair scene from Skyfall.

_Oh, Mr Silva_

Being tied up to a chair had never been one of Raoul’s favourite past times; not only it was rather uncomfortable, what with the zipties digging uncomfortably in the tender flesh of his wrists and ankles an seemingly eating away at it like some kind of wasting disease, but it also put him in a position of inferiority and forced immobility that, in his line of work, most often than not meant death - or serious injuries, at least. 

Still, he kept calm as he studied the room without bothering to hide what he was doing: if the goons who had dragged him in hadn’t wanted him to look, they would have blindfolded him; they didn’t respond to the kind of man who left anything to chance, if the clues leading up to that remote, half ruined island were anything to go by.

He had to admit, he rather admired the other’s ingenuity: it was refreshing; after years and years of being a spy, it was rare that Raoul had to square up to someone who genuinely was interesting and intriguing - someone who posed a real challenge. Not that Raoul was going to scream that to the four winds, he didn’t need Psych whispering in mother’s dearest ear that he might need to be retired; he wasn’t ready for it and he didn’t think he would ever be: he would get out of the field on his own terms, he wouldn’t let any self-entitled bureaucrat make the choice for him especially when, nowadays, it was rather rare that he would go out in the field himself.

Raoul had other weapons that made him deadly - other ways to reach his targets and destroy them without breaking a sweat or wasting resources like his colleagues in London did, going through Q-Branch’s equipment as fast and easily as if they were going through candy rather than prototypes that were worth thousands upon thousands of pounds. It really was no wonder that their numbers always were so abysmal at the end of the year, making the people at Finance bang their heads on their desks in desperation as they tried to come up with ways to fix the ever expanding hole that Q-Branch made in the agency’s yearly budget.

He got out of Station H only when a trigger needed to be pulled and, after the man had blown up MI6 without even setting foot in London, it was of the utmost importance that he put a bullet in the man’s brain - a waste, but that was what happened to those who strayed from the path that they had been set onto: a former Double-Oh gone mad knew far too many secrets to be allowed to stay alive.

Raoul had not-so-subtly implied during his call to mother dearest that it had been quite incompetent of whoever had been involved in the whole affair to not make sure that the Chinese actually did away with James Bond, rather than dumping his body somewhere without checking that it truly was lifeless first.

She hadn’t taken it well.

He hadn’t been particularly fazed by the snappy annoyance in her voice, though: she had never liked to have her and her team’s mistakes pointed out to her own face, it had always set her on the edge and Raoul would have been lying if he said that he never purposefully poked at her where he knew it would hurt.

The telltale noise of a lift moving finally broke through the monotonous buzzing of the computers that Raoul couldn’t help wondering how they were kept stable and constantly online on a lonely island: he had lived in one for most of his childhood and he knew perfectly well just how challenging it could be to even keep a satellite connection going. It was a shame that he hadn’t had enough time to poke around and figure out how exactly the whole setup was alimented - maybe he could cajole Bond into speaking about it for a while, in his quite long experience villains tended to love pontificating about their genius.

Not that it would give him the time to figure out how he could get out of the zipties: the henchmen who had tied him up had been very careful to ensure his bound hands and feet wouldn’t be anywhere near something even vaguely sharp - such as the edge of the chair - that he might use to snap them and the ones around his wrists were tightened so much that he couldn’t feel his fingers, let alone dislocate his thumb in a painful attempt at slipping out of the hard plastic ties: he was at Bond’s mercy and there wasn’t anything he could do about it, except maybe make the man interested in him enough to forget about any plans he might have that involved killing him there and then.

The doors opened and a man wrapped up in a suit tailored within an inch of its life stepped out, seemingly careless about the way the luscious deep blue fabric pulled and stretched around his muscles - so, the slimfit had been a choice, then. A questionable one but Raoul wasn’t blind to the way it perfectly showcased the man’s body, everything was put in blatant display and he had always appreciated people who weren’t shy about looking good - people who flaunted the fact that they knew perfectly well they made heads turn whenever they walked into a room.

It was a display of power and if there was something Raoul had been attracted to, that was it.

“I hope you’re enjoying the island, it must remind you of your childhood”

So, Bond wasn’t even going to pretend that he didn’t know absolutely everything about him and his past -  _ good _ : it was far easier to play a game with someone who wasn’t ashamed to keep all of theri cards face-up on the table rather than hoard them away in their sleeves “I always appreciate a trip down the memory lane”

“Is that why you immediately scurried to M’s beck and call when MI6 crumbled to dust?” Bond, pulled a chair and sat down in front of the other man, razor sharp blue irises studying the agent: he looked far less imposing than he had in the pictures and the surveillance tapes he had pulled from Hong Kong, there was something about the casual cut of his cream-coloured suit that made him look like a lost and puzzled tourist rather than someone who wouldn’t have any issues killing with his bare hands - even if it had become quite evident in his research on the Double-Oh’s life and career that remote murder and mayhem was his preferred modus operandi “Did you miss being her faithful dog, fetching the bones she threw you?”

“Last time I checked, I still was her employee - unlike someone else in this room”

“Oh, but not really” Bond slid to the edge of the seat, elbows propped on his own thighs and hands clasped between his spread legs - the portrait of empathy and sympathy “She sent you away, didn’t she? She banished you from MI6 when you became too dangerous for her”

“I was promoted” Raoul reminded himself not to listen, that it was just another tactic to make him uncomfortable and unfocused - to slowly get into his head like some kind of woodworm, eating away at his truths and certainties to leave him bereft of anything to lean on and draw strength from in a moment of crisis. He had been trained to spot and resist such mindgames, he knew better than falling for them - if only he hadn’t been nurturing those very same doubts in the past years: he loved Station H and he loved the freedom that derived from being away from London and the watchful eyes there, but he still was just a Double-Oh and he knew that the control he had reclaimed for himself in Hong Kong could be easily taken away from him.

“Is that what she called it?” Bond tilted his head to the side, waiting for an answer that didn’t come “You should have been promoted to Quartermaster but what did you get? A one way ticket to Hong Kong, a new name and a kid in your place - isn’t that it, Tiago?”

Raoul tightened his jaw, the ache of old fractures radiating to the rest of his skull as a constant reminder of just how badly he had broken himself up for Queen and Country -  _ for her _ . And he had gotten nothing in return, his office at Station H was a consolation prize to distract him from the fact that a boy barely out uni had gotten what he had been angling for his entire career; oh the new Q was good and brilliant but he was green, new,  _ pliable  _ \- someone for M to twist and turn into whatever shape or form she needed to fit him in the cast she had prepared for him. Raoul would have helped him to see the light if he hadn’t been so full of resentment himself, part of his brain still trying to hide the harsh truth beneath her actions.

“That’s not my name anymore”

“Oh, Mr Rodriguez” Bond revelled in the hiss of air between the other’s teeth, leaning in further as if to soak up the nervous energy and the hurt radiating off of him in thick, frustrated waves “Your name an be whatever you want it to be”

“Yes and you know perfectly well which one I have chosen”

Bond tutted, his hand nonchalantly landing on the agent’s thigh; he had moved so casually that to anyone else the gesture might have seemed absentminded and natural but James had no doubts that the other knew it was intentional, that he had purposefully wanted to establish a physical connection between them. He ignored the way the muscles tensed under his touch, thumb stroking along the perfectly ironed crease of the other’s trousers - linen, an interesting choice: he wondered about whether it had been one dictated by the temperature or by skin sensitivity “M has been very bad, look at what she has done to you” he murmured, fingers slipping further up until they were brushing his hip bone while his other hand reached up to flick open the first two buttons of the other’s patterned shirt - it was hideous, really, but somehow it suited the other man “Look at what she has done to you” his chest was covered in scar that weren’t that different from his own.

“Well, she has never tied me to a chair”

“Her loss” and he meant it: the man looked absolutely delicious, he was a work of art shaped by hardship “A h, you're trying to remember your training now - what's the regulation for this? Well, first time for everything, yes?”

The implication that he had never bedded a man was enough to release some of the anger and tension that had been accumulating inside of him: certainly, a former Double-Oh knew better than anyone else that one didn’t exactly choose their targets; Queen and Country didn’t care for its agents’ comfort and safety, let alone for their sexual orientations - what mattered was the target “What makes you think this is my first time?” Raoul asked, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he forced his muscles to relax, subtly pushing forward into the other’s hands instead of unconsciously trying to squirm away from Bond’s touch.

Two could play at the same game.

“Oh, Mr Silva ! ”

“You do know my name, then”

Oh, Bond had always had a weak spot for sass. He stood up, touch lingering against the other’s skin as he circled the chair so that he could cut off the zipties that were the only thing forcing the man to stay put “Of course I know your name” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear before sliding along a sharp cheekbone “I know  _ you _ because you and I are the same, Raoul”

The light kiss Bond left on his cheek burned for far longer than it had any right to, like some glowing brand that followed him back to London and into the grave the moors had turned, one mad gray down in the countryside.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
